


through the smokescreen of the crowded restaurants

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Gen, Humor, Hurt No Comfort, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17104508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: You're the chief of police and your spouse is “secretly” a vigilante, except they're really bad at hiding the evidence from you. You've become a master of plausible deniability and outrageous excuses, but today's incident is testing your limits.





	through the smokescreen of the crowded restaurants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allonsy_gabriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Gabe! I hope you have a great one, but here's a gift to start off your day, if you dare ;)

You sometimes wonder whether your spouse thinks you a moron.

It is nigh _impossible_ to miss the signs, and yet Sasha seems to be convinced that you are entirely oblivious to it.

Case in point: The garage incident.

While spring cleaning the garage, you stumble upon a small box, an almost faded inscription of a crescent moon on it. To your everlasting relief, the moon isn’t _red_ , so you figure that you’re safe. You don’t have to start to actively investigate your spouse for being a _goddamn vigilante_.

It’s all fine.

(At least, that’s what you tell yourself.)

 

***

 

Sasha has all the subtlety of a _bloody chainsaw_.

There was an accident two weeks back with a bank robbery. You were visiting your local bank office during your lunch break, when a trio of robbers had decided to blow your afternoon schedule to smithereens. Someone, probably one of the bank tellers, had phoned emergency services before the robbers had managed to exert control over the situation.

You had gotten caught up in the hostage situation, and were contemplating just how you would have explained the fact that you weren’t there to pick up your dog from your sister’s at the designated time because _some idiots decided to rob the bank_ , when Lady Scarlet casually _waltzed_ in and took out the bank robbers before any of them had time to react to her appearance.

It might have been your imagination—

_—it wasn’t—_

—but you think you saw Lady Scarlet _wink_ at you as she was tying up the last of the robbers.

On further thoughts, it seems that you owe chainsaws everywhere an apology.

 

***

 

You think back to the laundry you did last Thursday, once Sasha had gone to bed. There was a set of clothing, made from spandex, that looked suspiciously like the outfit of Lady Scarlet. You had the sneaking hunch that, had you inspected the belt, you would have discovered the crimson crescent moon that was the telltale mark of Lady Scarlet.

You very pointedly did not investigate the matter further. You were far too familiar with plausible deniability, and you had that in _spades_ (even though you half-expect your Samsung to start auto-correcting ‘Lady Scarlet’ to ‘Sasha’ any day now). 

 

***

 

And then there were the floating utensils.

If all of the above-mentioned things haven’t, for some _godforsaken reason_ , rung a warning bell in your mind by then, the sheer amount of inanimate objects falling to the floor whenever you entered a room would have done it.

“Was that knife just floating?” you decide to ask one day after you have once again walked into the kitchen just in time to watch a knife rattled to the floor with a loud clatter.

Sasha, to the credit of her acting skills, looks properly offended. “What? No! Of course not! It was just... It fell."

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, I'll bite. How did it come to fall?”

“I... dropped it. Yes, I dropped it. I wanted to twirl it, but I ended up slipping and tossing it.”

You pause for a moment, letting Sasha’s words sink into both of your minds.

“And it flew all the way across the kitchen?”

She winces. “I may have put in a little too much energy in that throw,” she admits with a sheepish smile.

You fight the urge to groan.

_That’s not how aerodynamics works._

How is this your life?

 

***

 

“I mean, it’s nice, isn’t it?” Sasha’s voice greets you at work.

There’s one problem: It’s coming from the TV, where a brave reporter is conducting an interview with Lady Scarlet.

“It can’t all be nice though, can it?” the reporter pressed, prompting Lady Scarlet to purse her lips.

“It’s neat, superpowers and all, but at the same time, I can’t help but be frustrated at the fact that instead of making a genuine effort to work with me, the police is doing its utmost to stop me stop crime.” A laugh.

More specifically, it’s coming from Lady Scarlet herself.

“I mean, isn’t it kind of a oxymoron? The police preventing the prevention of crimes?”

Lady Scarlet sounds _exactly_ like Sasha.

“Yes, it does seem odd,” said the reporter, a smug smile playing on his lips.

You fight the urge to throttle someone—preferably Lady Scarlet or the reporter, whomever you run into first—and also to make a note to send an anonymous tip to your local vigilante to invest in a voice distorter, or possibly a voice coach, because _for fuck’s sake_ , this wasn’t even putting in a token effort.

“I mean, it’s not like, for example, Andre—I mean, _Zapper_ , ‘scuse—is all that great with property damage, and yet you don’t see the police pursuing _him_.”

You tune out the reply, instead turning to a nearly detective.

“Who’s the poor soul interviewing Lady Scarlet?”

The detective’s head snaps up at being addressed by the chief of police. “Uh, Richard Whittle, chief. From _Crime International_.” The words are stumbled, but they get the point across.

You purse your lips. “I want him on the watch list,” you decide.

The detective paused. “For what, chief?” There was genuine confusion in those words.

“For actively seeking out and interacting with a vigilante wanted for questioning in four cases,” you tell the detective.

There. That should be enough to deter future reporters from seeking out Sa—Lady Scarlet for interviews.

The detective nods once, then scurries off to make the appropriate arrangements.

You reach for your phone.

Someone has to put an end to this madness.

Not unexpectedly, the call goes to voicemail.

As do the next seventeen.

 _Jesus fucking Christ_.

 

***

 

“Hi, Thuri,” Sasha greets you later that afternoon.

“Where have you been?!” you demand. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past _five hours_.”

Sasha very carefully does not meet your eyes. “I was walking Meph.” _More like giving an interview on live TV._

Her ginger hair catches your eye. It’s gleaming ever-so-slightly in the light of your entrance hall chandelier.

 _Red like Lady Scarlet’s,_ you can’t help but think, before abruptly shutting down that train of thought.

“For five hours,” you deadpan, your expression carefully devoid of any emotion.

A hesitant pause.

“I mean, it was a long walk.”

Which would have been a feasible, if somewhat far-fetched excuse, had you not known for a fact that Mephistopheles, your labradoodle, had spent the entire day at your sister's house. Again. Because your spouse, despite working from home, wasn't capable of taking care of a dog.

Honestly, Sasha’s excuses were almost insulting. It almost seemed like she had forgotten that you had been a detective for twelve years. You are anything but oblivious.

Including, apparently, willfully ignorant.

Given your spouse’s complete and utter lack of anyone even approaching subtlety, it was understandable that over the past several months, as the hunt for Lady Scarlet heated up, and the demand for her head—or, failing that, “any other body part would do,” as the DA had put it—you’ve had to become the master of avoiding acknowledging the facts that were staring you right in the face. You want to keep what you have, and if playing the idiot is the way to do it, then of course you have no idea what all of these things, put together, actually mean. Sasha’s excuses have always been terrible, and you’d be the first to point out an actual vigilante would have come up with better ones, yes?

But this...

This really takes the cake.

“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t answer your phone.”

A longer pause this time.

“I forgot it at home.”

“You _what_.”

“Well, it’s not like I was completely unreachable. I swung by Za—by Andrea’s place, and then I lost track of time, and I’m terribly sorry, it won’t happen again, but it’s not like I did it on purpose, so…” Sasha trailed off, finally looking up and meeting your eyes.

You finally throw up your arms into the air. “That doesn’t make it okay! What if something had happened? I can’t—You can’t disappear—You can’t be unreachable for _five hours_ without giving me some warning!”

Sasha says nothing. You both know that there are no words she can offer that would help.

You run a hand through your hair. “You know what? Sure. You disappeared with Meph”—who was at your sister’s—“for _five hours_ to Andrea’s house. I just…” You sigh again. “Don’t pull that kind of shit on me again. I can’t _not_ be able to contact you. I can’t do that.”

Sasha’s expression softens. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs with genuine remorse. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to stress you out.” She lets out a laugh. “I was just… distracted. You know how I get. You know me.”

Yes, you do.

Unfortunately, you do.

 

***

 

You sometimes wonder whether your spouse thinks you a moron.

Other times, you know the answer.

And that…

That _hurts_ , almost more than the constant lies do.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. So. This thing wasn't intended to turn out this dark.


End file.
